Time passed, but it felt like eternity, each moment she sat on the bed, or near the window. The sky had changed, no more bloody red, but a light purple shade. It offered a small comfort in a demonic world. And at night, where it was black, she had seen a lot of shiny stars, ranging to a sceptre of colors. The sight had been marvelous.
She had been eating their food, but with each bite, it was like she was accepting her fate, like she was giving up. She had studied the room, for any weakness, any crack, but the walls were solid, oppressive. It was a monotone day and night. Her constant job was looking at the expensive, sophisticated clothes inside the wardrobe with disdain, and flipping through the books with contempt. She had never loathed books so much before. That undeniable seed of fear was the only thing that kept her from throwing these books and clothes on fire.
But the more she though about it, the voice of reason told her that these 'assets' were mistakenly put here. They couldn't be for her. What she currently wore, her clothes from Earth, was a tank top and sweatpants, and it was like going back in medieval times and telling them you had a phone.
Her mind kept wandering to the demon lord, the woman who had burst in her room and attacked her. She had been beautiful though, and it was no wonder that this creature was his lover. The other woman must've been her sister, since they had a similar nose and facial structure.
Regan curled into a tight ball, feeling a surge of anger and helplessness at how little she knew. Her thoughts were endless, ranging from the pits of depression to the peaks of madness. For instance, how much he had watched her? What if he had watched her in the bathroom? The idea made her stomach churn, but she couldn't shake it away. She felt so exposed, like no matter how much layers she could wear, they'd never cover her enough.
A tear escaped from her eye, but it was one of anger, frustration. "Oh, God, why did this have to happen to me?" she murmured, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting him to appear out of thin air. She wanted to rip his handsome face off if she ever saw him again.
She stood up from the bed, trying to think about something else. The more she thought about it, the more terrifying scenarios played in her head.
She walked over to the wardrobe, remembering his words about her powers which she had ended forcefully fancying. If it was true, she'd have something to stand up to him, not just her anger and sharp tongue.
But who knew, even if he was right, he could use her own 'powers' against her.
The wardrobe smelled like lavender, the same cynical scent of her bed's sheets. Her hand brushed against the soft fabric of the silky, cotton clothes inside the wardrobe, and other rich materials, and she fought the urge to destroy them. Their colors ranged from pastel to the deepest of the darks. And they weren't plain or simple, they were intricately designed, as if sewed by a master tailor.
They have probably forgotten them here, Regan thought. Maybe one of his lovers, girlfriends, whatever he had, had stayed here. She couldn't describe the repulsion she felt in that moment. In whose bed was she sleeping? Her eyes were narrowed furiously as she pulled out a dress. It was red, the neckline low, sleeves three-quartered. The fabric was lightweight and felt smooth against her fingers. But the back was too revealing.
"As if I'd ever wear this," she muttered through gritted teeth, the need to tear it to shreds growing strong. But she just threw it back inside, rifling through, creating a mess there, and then moving to the shoes. She found high heels and her nerves kept getting struck.
She had worn high heels before and it made some bad memories flash in her mind. When she was sixteen, she had gone into a party. As a loner, she didn't go to parties. But her aunt had insisted.
And Regan had regretted it. Her classmates had spread rumours about her, saying that she was dating the headmaster's son just to get attention. She hadn't dated anyone, man. What was it that they were so obsessed with the boring life of hers?
But here she was now, in a demon's world, who probably knew the most unpleasant parts of her life. She felt a headache coming.
For a moment, as she stared at the heels, she felt a flicker of curiosity to try a pair. But then the voice of reason kicked in. The reality was a suffocating weight in her chest. She was a captive, being held here against her will. She shouldn't be thinking about shoes or clothes. She should be thinking about escaping, about getting out of this hellhole. What was wrong with her? Why was she wasting time on such frivolous things?
Regan slammed the wardrobe's door shut. There was nothing of use to do here. The books, those few that were in English, didn't have the temptation of a read that made you feel good. They had the temptation of a read that made you feel like a wretch.
She was missing her home, her school, despite how much frustrating memories it held. And she missed her aunt's soups, which she had never really liked before.
She sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows. The room's temperature was warm, since Althea had lit the fireplace, but it was no match to the coldness that had settled in Regan's stomach.
"What could aunt Monica be doing?" Regan asked the walls, seriously wondering. Had she reported to police? How could anyone find where she was? Her prickled with tears but she took a sharp breath, willing them to go away. "If she would have believed me, things could have been different." Or couldn't they?
The knock on the door awoke her from her thoughts. They were like an stubborn alarm that didn't do her any good. It was the servant girl, but this time not holding a tray of food. She just threw a look around the room and then at Regan.
She cleared her throat, "Well, uh....if you want to change your clothes, you could try those inside the wardrobe. If you don't like them, well-"
"What?" Regan interrupted, the irony not lost on her.
"I meant, you can change," Althea corrected, her voice more tentative.
"Why should I change? Besides, I'm not going to wear something that doesn't suit me, something that belongs to someone else. I thought you forgot these here," Regan replied, nodding at the wardrobe.
"No, I didn't forget them here. I mean, no one has stayed in that room before. So, no one should have used the clothes. I just thought you could wear something else. You don't have to, I guess," Althea said, a bit confused.
"Well, thank you," Regan's voice was thick with sarcasm. She wasn't here for a 'dress up' game. She breathed deeply. They weren't even decent clothes. They were revealing, as if she were some sort of concubine. The thought made her shudder.
"Wait," she called to the servant girl before she could leave, "Who brought these clothes here?"
The servant paused, turning around slowly, "I did. It was his highness's order."
"Of course," Regan muttered, her jaw clenching. Her fists tightened into balls at her sides. "What a piece of...." she trailed off, not wanting to finish, "Why doesn't he come here himself?" she spat out, not being able to hold it anymore.
"Because....he has other matters to attend to," Althea replied with a shrug.
For a moment, Regan contemplated. She was right, he had other matters. But why was she here then? She stood up, running a hand through her hair, "Look, I'm not looking forward to change. It's fine," her voice was still harsh, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret at the sadness that flashed across Althea's eyes.
"I just....since you had the chance," Althea stuttered, "Not every captive gets fancy rooms and servants to wait on them. But if you don't want to change, then fine." She turned to leave, closing the door behind her.
Regan closed her eyes, and gripped her hair in frustration. Silence fell again and she didn't even want to think about it anymore. She felt like she was losing her sanity. That servant wasn't a bad person, but the way she justified was horrible.
Regan's shoulders slumped and she walked over to the window. She hadn't gotten roses anymore, and those that she had hidden in the bathroom, they hadn't decayed a little.
Suddenly, the twist of the doorknob made her flinch. But this time it wasn't Althea. It was him. The demon lord.
He stood there in all his glory, looking at her with those piercing blue eyes. It was as if he had heard her saying 'why doesn't he come here himself' and Regan felt a stab of fear. She took a step back, but she wasn't going to cower.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. She hated it.
A smirk formed in his lips, a vicious one, as if from both amusement and irritation, "I trust you're comfortable," he said in a velvety tone that held nothing than sarcasm.
Regan's eyes darted away, not wanting to look at him. But she didn't say anything, instead waiting for him to state his purpose. That didn't mean she was calmed down anyway. In fact his voice made her blood boil.
He stepped in, his tall frame suddenly making the room fell smaller, more air less. "Is that what you'll wear for dinner?" He nodded at her clothes, and her skin prickled with irritation.
"Dinner?" she hissed, crossing her arms against her chest as if to defend herself from his gaze, "What dinner?"
The lord's smirk grew wider, "You're going to have dinner with me tonight," his voice was neutral but just as she looked at his eyes, she sensed the command there.
She shook her head in incredulity, "You're delusional if you think I'd ever eat dinner with you," she said through gritted teeth, still avoiding eye contact.
"It wasn't a wish, it was an order," he retorted, authority evident in his voice.
"I'm not here to obey your orders" Regan snapped, her temper hanging thin. How brave he was, threatening her to eat dinner. It was ridiculous, pathetic.
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing at her response, "You will," he said with a cold finality that made her words feel shallow.
Regan swallowed hard, "I'd rather die," she spat.
"That can be arranged," he chuckled lowly and she couldn't separate if it was devoid or really hinted with amusement, "I'd rather sacrifice someone else," he added, his voice dropping an octave, with a dangerous edge.
"I don't care," Regan replied, trying to sound unaffected.
"We shall see," he lastly said and disappeared into the shadows.
As soon as he left she felt a small, temporary relief mixed with a hint of fear. Who had he meant? She didn't want to admit, but she kind of regretted her impulsiveness and not listening to his word.
She hated how he made her sit on the edge, how he made her fidget with her fingers. Why would he want to eat dinner with her? Given that other creatures lived here, he might want to humiliate. But she was stubborn as a mule. She couldn't swallow her pride. It was one of the few things she had here, and it burned with intensity whenever he tried to assert his own way.
Regan entered the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her clothes were indeed awful in comparison to the opulence that surrounded this godforsaken place.
It was becoming unreadable. She had never wanted such life. She sighed, and began to mumble the rhythm of a song she liked. Her voice, the words of the song, it all was almost satirical in her situation. But she had to do something to keep her mind off for a while.
A knock again. But that was after a while, after the sky's color had grown darker. His dinner, Regan thought bitterly. She wished he had changed his mind.
It was Althea, eyes downcast, voice shaking, "My lady, why haven't you changed yet?" she questioned, her eyes flicking up. "I'll have to take you downstairs for dinner."
But Regan didn't even move from the bed, just lay there, her eyes fixed at the window, "I'm not going anywhere," she said dryly. "And I'm not going to change. I'm not here to play anyone's doll!"
Althea approached, "He is going to get furious at both of us. Why can't you just stop being stubborn for once?"
"Because I don't want to....!" Regan trailed off as she felt a strange wave wash over her body, something that eerily felt like his presence. And when that deep voice was heard, she immediately shifted to sit and see the one and only demon lord entering the room.
He muttered something to Althea, who's face drained its color and she quickly disappeared behind the tall dark doors, leaving them there.
"What are you waiting for? Get up. We're going down for dinner," he commanded, eyes cold and filled with a sense of disapproval. But she didn't need anyone's approval. Didn't need anyone's validation. his voice filled with authority, his expression blank.
"I'm not going anywhere," she repeated once more, her voice not faltering.
He slammed the doors shut and slowly stepped closer, and she fought the urge to recoil.
"Well then, I'll let you know, I won't hurt you," he said, voice a low rumble, eyes barely concealing the cruelty beneath. "But when I was on Earth, I got to know your aunt well enough. Poor woman, she never realized, the same way she won't realize her cruel fate."
Regan's heart pounded in her chest as she looked at him, her eyes blinking. Her aunt? Was he threatening her?
"What have you done to her?" Regan's voice trembled as she asked, watching his expression go smug. She couldn't let her aunt suffer because of her own predicament. Yes, her aunt was at fault as well, but she couldn't let him harm her.
His eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction, "Nothing yet, my dear," he said, leaning slightly closer, "But her fate is in your hands. She's the one who will suffer from your actions."
The use of endearment sent a shiver down her spine, "I'm not your dear," she spat through gritted teeth. But he seemed to have exactly expected her reaction and he just smirked.
"Leave me alone," she persisted, her patience hanging on a thin line. She knew that was underestimating his words, however, his expression remained calm.
"So, you don't care about your aunt. I don't blame you," he said, his voice filled with mockery, "She let you suffer and called you insane. There shouldn't be any mercy for that woman."
His words were infectious and they indeed hit a nerve. But she wasn't going to let him know he made her doubt herself, "It's not her fault! It's yours!" she shouted.
He knelt down beside her, their eyes at the same level, "I'm not the one who sent you to the asylum," he said with a voice that was almost mockingly gentle, "But it's your choice anyway." And then leaned back, holding her furious gaze until he left the room.